


Hovering on the Edge

by bewarethesmirk



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:05:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewarethesmirk/pseuds/bewarethesmirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colin dissects more adeptly than a biologist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hovering on the Edge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moonilicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonilicious/gifts).



> Dedicated to moonilicious, who requested Bradley/Colin and heat. :) I hope you like this! It stops in a very teasing place. I might be convinced to continue. *eg* Thanks to b_hallward for her keen eye.

This is just one of those times, when Colin wonders how he let Bradley talk him into this. Colin's elbows are seemingly permanently connected to the sticky counter of the bar, and a pissed bloke jostles into him. It's summer and blistering hot; Colin's shirt is sticking to his back and his forehead itches where sweat is beading there. In sum: A pub full of rowdy footie fans is just hell. 

"Isn't this _brilliant_?" Bradley yells over the ruckus, his hand ruffling Colin's hair. He's grinning, wide and bright, and Colin just wants to kill him. Instead Colin tips back the remainder of his pint, intending to down it, but Bradley swipes it away and chugs it down.

"I wanted that!" Colin swats at Bradley's arm, which is really rather muscular, even after two months off from filming, and thus reminding him that it's best to avoid touching Bradley at all. 

Colin has been on the cusp for years now. It's maddening - the tension between Bradley and him, the subtext that's talked about on screen and off. And then there's the tension that the outside world doesn't see. At times it’s all too easy to dismiss it as his own imagination. He reads into Bradley's words for double entendres, ponders kisses to his forehead, jealousy aimed at anyone who occupies Colin's time. Colin dissects more adeptly than a biologist.

It’s all well and good to kindle false hope and nurse a crush. But after years of flickering tension, building up and fading out, there doesn’t seem much point. He just isn’t going to care anymore, which is good, which is _smart_ , but Bradley is hardly that escapable.

Bradley licks his lips in an exaggerated, if not downright filthy way, that is _not_ helping Colin's predicament. He leans closer to yell in Colin's ear, "You've got to pace yourself, mate," and cups the back of Colin's sweaty neck. Bradley _keeps his hand there_ as he gestures to the huge, tattooed man behind the bar for two shots. They're plunked down in front of them and Bradley hands one to Colin.

"You just told me I should pace myself," Colin says. "How is this logical?"

"This is what you were pacing yourself for." Bradley grins, all waggling eyebrows, and he clinks his shot glass against Colin's and knocks it back. Colin tries not to watch the way Bradley swallows or the way his neck is sweaty or the way his hair is curling against his jaw. Colin closes his eyes against the sight and takes his shot, perversely enjoying the burn of the tequila down his throat.

He coughs. "You couldn't have asked for limes or salt?"

"That would have been too sensible." Bradley says, nonplussed. He grins sideways at Colin, and the way his mouth looks, and his bright eyes, and their close proximity – and here it all bloody is again. It's one of those moments where Colin is teetering on the edge, the world around him blurred with alcohol and heat. The consequences of leaning forward just – a – little – and –

"Whoa, mate," Bradley says, holding Colin's shoulders. Apparently Colin has indeed lost his sobriety and therefore his mind, and has leaned in far enough to broadcast his next move, namely kissing Bradley James and fucking up the world as he knows it.

"I need – air." Colin says, the world around him spinning. He can't remember how many pints of beer he's had, and there was wine at lunch before that. And then a shot, or maybe there was two. He's well and truly fucked now. 

He bursts through the crowd, aiming for the back of the pub. Colin is yelled at and elbowed once in the stomach. He needs to escape Bradley's wild, affronted eyes. He needs to _breathe_.

Bradley is shouting after him. Colin stumbles through the back door. It's much cooler outside, and the shock of drastically reduced sound and fresh air leaves his head reeling.

Unfortunately, he can't get himself together because a second later Bradley is out the door and in Colin's face again.

"Are you all right?" Bradley asks. A brief glance at Bradley's face, shows not disgust, but a fathomless expression Colin doesn't dare dissect.

"Fine," Colin lies. "Too much to drink." He wipes at his eyes, where sweat falling from his hair and forehead is stinging his eyes. "Too many people."

"Look at me," Bradley says, low, and Colin looks up to meet his gaze. "What was that?" Bradley asks. 

Colin sighs, heart pounding in his temples, breath coming too quick. "I've had too much to drink."

"You're not a slutty drunk," Bradley says, feeling it out, puzzling. "You were going to kiss me."

Colin could deny it, but yeah, it was fairly obvious. Plus, he's _tired_.

"Yeah."

Bradley moves closer, backs him against the wall. When he takes Colin's jaw into his hand, Colin can't help but to make a small noise. Bradley leans in, their bodies tight together, and he presses his lips to Colin's jaw slowly, chastely.

"Do you want me to kiss you?" Bradley asks, hoarse, like the biggest fucking cock tease on the planet.

"Not - " Colin tries again. "Not unless you mean it." He doesn't think he could take Bradley kissing him out of some kind of inebriated experiment or something really masquerading as nothing.

Bradley's fingers tighten around Colin's jaw, stroking lightly there, against his stubbled chin. He smiles, secretly and devilishly. "You can be a right idiot." He leans forward, catching Colin's mouth with his own. Where their mouths meet, hot and tense, balancing on the precipice of something new, is simmering. 

Colin presses closer.


End file.
